


A warrior princess, she decided

by sansaswildlinglover



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Jon Snow is King in the North, Sansa is Lady of Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-08 20:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17392979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaswildlinglover/pseuds/sansaswildlinglover
Summary: Sansa thinks Jon could never fall in love with a girl like her... But she has a plan to make him notice her.





	A warrior princess, she decided

The last thing Jon had been expecting to see when he entered the training yard, was Sansa in leathers and breeches, a wooden sword in hand as she circled around Alysane Mormont. 

The sight stopped him in his tracks. She moved swiftly, and her footwork was good, but he could tell her grip wasn't sure enough. He'd never noticed how long her legs were before.

Alysane advanced, but Sansa whirled and easily parried her blow, a laugh of elation escaping from her lips. He smiled at her excitement, but he knew Alysane wasn't giving it her all.

Sansa's braid whipped against her shoulders as they danced around each other. She was getting tired. She was breathing heavier and her movements were getting slower. She was moving too close to Alysane, exposing her front instead of facing her sideways.

"Pivot back," he called out. "Keep moving."

Her mouth fell open as she turned her flushed face to him and she dropped her arm, just when the other woman moved to strike again. Alysane hit Sansa's arm, her sword clattered to the ground and she cried out sharply.

Jon was next to Sansa in a matter of moments, shoving Alysane aside to reach her. She hissed as she clutched her arm, clenching her teeth to hold back a sob.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded, averting her eyes.

"Come," he said. "Let's get you to your chambers so I can have a look at that."

"Are you a maester now?" she asked, still avoiding his eyes. 

He clenched his teeth. "No, but I've seen enough wounds to judge whether you need one."

They were both quiet as they walked to the Great Keep and ascended the stairs to the family quarters. Once they'd arrived in her chambers, he helped her remove her leathers and roll up the sleeve of her tunic. She sat down on the settee at the foot of her bed and he took a seat next to her.

He was close enough to smell the sweet scent of her hair and see the sheen of sweat on her brow. Her lashes were wet from the tears she'd been trying to hold back. She'd have an ugly and painful bruise on her upper arm by nightfall, and the blow had also broken the skin.

He soaked a cloth in the bowl of water on her vanity to clean the wound. Once he'd done that, he used a clean cloth to wipe the sweat and tears from her face. She was still avoiding his eyes.

"There," he told her. "All better now."

She used her good hand to unravel her braid and let her hair fall between them like a curtain. He wondered what he'd done to deserve her coldness this time.

He could demand her to tell him with bitterness and accusation in his voice, or he could leave, like he'd done so many times before. It would mean they wouldn't talk to each other for a while, and then only with icy politeness for a sennight after, and then they'd go back to normal.

He was tired of it, of this constant tension between them that was always bound to snap at some point. It was a game he no longer wished to play, so he swallowed his pride and resentment and decided to approach her with gentleness rather than anger. It was a trick he'd seen her use many times. 

He reached out and brushed her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Why do you suddenly want to learn how to fight?"

Sansa liked dancing and sewing and singing. She'd never been interested in swords before. Didn't she feel safe enough? Didn't she know he'd always be here to protect her?

She pursed her lips, shaking her head. "You'll think I'm really silly."

He had thought Sansa was a little silly when they'd been children, but that was mostly because he hadn't understood her, because even though they'd grown up together, it had often seemed as if she inhabited a completely different world, a world where there was no place for a bastard like him.

There were still times when he didn't really understand her, but they'd grown closer, and he'd come to admire her strength, her beauty and her kindness, the way she ruled the keep and helped him rule the North. He'd come to love all of her, even the odd parts of her that puzzled him.

"Is that why you didn't ask me? I could teach you if this is what you really want."

She didn't answer, she only shook her head again. "I was trying to impress you," she whispered after a long silence, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"Impress me?" he chuckled.  _You impress me every day._

"I wanted to learn and surprise you," she continued. "To show that I..." She let her words trail off.

"Show me what?" he asked softly. "Sansa, I don't understand."

She wrung her hands together and worried her teeth over her bottom lip. "I know about your wildling girl. You always used to like Arya more than you liked me," she started babbling. "I saw you with the Lady Val and Asha Greyjoy. I thought, if I could be more like them..."

Again she didn't finish her sentence, and Jon found himself shaking his head, frowning in confusion at her words. He must be misunderstanding, she couldn't possibly mean what he hoped she was trying to say.

"Why do you want to be like them?"

He was aware he was leaning in, getting too close, as if he could read her thoughts before she'd spoken them that way. She turned to face him, sucking in a sharp breath as she realized their noses had almost bumped together.

"Because I thought you might love me if I was strong like them."

His gaze dropped to her lips as she licked them and then she closed the final gap between them to press a featherlight kiss to his own lips.

 _Oh,_ he thought and that spark of hope he'd allowed himself bloomed in his chest, blossoming into joy, but then it was over, and she was already pulling back.

"Forgive me," she whispered. "I shouldn't have."

"There's nothing to forgive," he said breathlessly as he chased her mouth to kiss her back. He tried to go slow and gentle, first kissing the corner of her mouth, then her bottom lip, before pressing his mouth to hers fully.

He cupped her cheek and rested his forehead against hers. "You were right," he said, and he felt her freeze, starting to retreat.

"I do believe you're being a little silly," he clarified. "You _are_ strong. You don't need to change."

"I know," she shrugged. "I just wish..." For the third time, and quite unusual for her, she seemed at a loss for words.

"I hadn't finished," he said. "You don't need to change, regardless, but you definitely don't need to change for me. I already love you, Sansa."

"Truly?" she whispered, reaching up so her fingers could tentatively stroke his beard.

"Truly," he answered, nuzzling her cheek. "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes, please!"

That made him smile against her lips. When they parted for breath, he murmured: "I do like the breeches though."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm usually not really into stories where Sansa learns to fight, but I liked the idea of Sansa trying to please Jon by changing herself, and Jon proving her wrong...


End file.
